The Tour
by catsandbooksandtelly
Summary: When John, new to the small town, climbs a tree to get away from bullies he meets Sherlock who is willing to give John a tour of the town and become his friend, unaware of what he was getting himself into. Teenlock. Colab with the amazing I-only-have-one on Tumblr. Reviews appreciated. Rated T just to be safe. UPDATED 11/3/13.
1. The Beginning

John swallowed hard as he clambered up the tall oak tree, as fast as he could go. He knew if he went high enough, then they wouldn't be able to catch him. The gang of boys, who were much older and stronger than him, had chased him all the way to the tree. John could feel his heart hammering away in his chest, as he leant against the tree, trying to catch his breath back. When he heard them leave, he slowly moved down to a lower branch, and watched them go, before he heard a small voice, which caused him to nearly topple out of the tree.

Sherlock, posed in the branch above him had been watching the whole scene. He didn't know if he was amused or disgusted. The boy had blindly, yet deftly made it up the tree. The group must have scared him to his wits for him to resort to such primal instinct. Whatever the case was this boy was in his tree. "You're a quick one" he remarked carefully. "Now get down. You know they won't come back, you've done this before. Just the other day actually."

John looked up at the boy that had startled him. "How did you know?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you're not utterly blind you'd find tree bark in your jumper sleeves, a thin cut under your ear from the leaves, and a splinter in your left thumb. I also saw it happen." His eyes evaluated the kid. Blonde, athletic, under pressure. Completely normal, but new to the private school. Fresh meat. "Now as I've repeated before, this is my tree, get out."

John didn't move, "What makes this your tree?"

Sherlock smirked. "The same force which makes it not yours. I have spent months here undisturbed. Why, I even keep my bag up here. Mine" he contained a laugh.

John frowned and started going down the tree.

Sherlock's smile sank suddenly. "Wait!" He called. He didn't feel right sending the boy away. He was lonely up here. "You don't have to leave, I guess. What's your name, at least?"

John stopped and looked up at the stranger, "John. John Watson."

"Sherlock" he responded curtly and extended a hand to John.

John climbed back up to where Sherlock was sitting on the highest possible branches of the tree and took his hand, "Nice to meet you."

"Pleasures all mine." Sherlock replied. He peered over the edge. "Why were they chasing you? Not for money not here."

John looked at his hands, "They... It's nothing."

Sherlock pouted. "Oh do tell me." He insisted and bent down to John his school issued shirt, unbuttoned just at the neck, exposing his pale collar bones.

John looked up at Sherlock, "Oh the usual."

Sherlock groaned. "The usual is hardly ever usual." He sighed. "Just elaborate," he commanded. "It won't kill you"

John sighed, "What do you think they would want from me, new to the school as I am?"

"Entertainment. Popularity. They desire to be on top and put you in your place, which evidently is below them. I don't agree. You're in perfect physical and mental standings, you're kind, and you're blonde. You should be on their level if not higher. Except you're here on scholarship right? Yeah. That's it. Society. What an ugly word." Sherlock waves his hands about as he talked.

John looked shocked, "Right."

"You're a dull one" Sherlock sighed and hooked his legs around the branch to dangle upside down, exposing his stomach. "Tell me John, have they ever hurt you?"

John shuddered at the thought, "Not yet." He watched Sherlock dangle upside down, "Have they hurt you?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed with brief anger. "Perhaps they might have. You've never been bullied before. If you had you wouldn't be so scared." He ventured.

John frowned, "Perhaps not."

"Spoiled" Sherlock muttered "only child? No. Only good child! That's it"

John looked surprised, "How did you know?"

"Never bullied. You have an older sibling, probably a trouble maker because she has to be out of the house. Older, not younger, because your backpacks a hand me down, still had the initials of the child in the side, HJW. Knowing your name did not match said initials I insist you have a sibling. You got into this school, meaning you're the good one. The scholarship isn't full unless you play a sport, on some semblance of a professional level. Parents had to help. A bit spoiled we are. New shoes, new pen, broken however, so it's cheap. Spoiled but not rich."

John almost fell out of the tree again, "How did you know all of that?"

"How could I not, you're so easy to read" Sherlock taunted

John rolled his eyes, "If you're going to be that way, I could just leave."

"And yet you listened to me when I asked you to stay" he replied as John began to climb down. "Why is that?"

"I thought I could have found... a friend." He sighed once he reached the ground, "Turns out I was wrong."

Sherlock stiffened. The words of every idiot didn't hurt but John wasn't an idiot. That much was clear. And his words hurt like a knife in his gut. Sherlock smoothly jumped from the tree, landed the ten foot jump and stood at his full six foot height gracefully. "I didn't mean-sorry. I can be...intolerable." He said, grazing on modesty but not quite hitting the mark

John raised his eyebrows, "I can see that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He shook his head and chuckled darkly. "I'm off John, but if you want to use the tree you can use it." He said as a peace offering before trotting off toward the school building.

"Thanks," John called after him. Then, his curiosity getting the better of him, he shouted, "Wait, where are you going?" and started after him.

Sherlock turned and smirked to himself. "Least populated area of the school." He paused and tossed his head as a way of direction. "Library"

"Can I come?" He had almost caught up with him.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say no but thought about it. He could keep John safe. And the boy was obviously desperate for any socialization considering he was associating in some way with Sherlock. "Yeah, if you stay quiet, I guess" he said finally and headed inside the ugly building. How he hated school.


	2. The Library

John quietly followed Sherlock into the building as they traveled silently to the library, Sherlock keeping his head down. Once in the freezing but silent room the Librarian nodded at him. "Mrs. Hudson" he replied. Sherlock showed himself to the back where the reference and nonfiction lay. He randomly grabbed a book on forensic photography and John furrowed his eyebrows.

"Forensic photography?"

Sherlock smirked. "Do I question your preference for Superman over Steinbeck?" He answered and sat at a small table near the back 

John shrugged, "Fair enough." He sat down across from Sherlock, "Is it interesting?"

Sherlock arched a thin eyebrow. "Obviously" he said and flipped it open. "I've never found the appeal of superheroes" Sherlock said a few minutes later. 

"Why not?"

"Heroes don't exist. False hope leads to demise." Sherlock looked up from his hefty book. "Am I boring you?" 

John shook his head, "Not at all."

Sherlock sighed. "You're lying. Through your teeth." He retorted and leaned back cockily. "Do you have a fag?" He asked out of the blue 

"I'm not lying," he retorted, "and no I don't."

"Good boy then, you crave attention but not to the point of extremes. You want people to approve. Golden hair, blue eyes, coy smile, and doesn't do drugs. You're perfect" Sherlock snorted disdainfully. "It's almost sad. Do you go to parties?" 

John leaned back in his chair, he was getting used to the deducing thing, "Sometimes."

The only reply was an unexplained "hmm" before Sherlock began his book gain. He wanted to see if John would stay dead quite, as Sherlock had asked he remembered a bit sadly, or give into temptation and ask him something. 

John didn't say anything for a while, and then he furrowed his eyebrows and couldn't help but ask, "What do you mean I'm perfect?"

"Perfect...as defined by the status quo." Sherlock back pedaled. His word choice could have been more tactful. "You have the potential to be popular, to rule the school. You don't like fighting and you've got a soft spot for broken things. Don't look at me like that, I've seen you take the broken textbooks when you've forgotten yours. You're happy, you're sane, and you're kind. Perfect." Sherlock leaned his chair back on two legs. "Not to say you're inhumanly good. You're prone to anger, you have a tendency to clench your fists and your jaw when you get mad. Which has been rather recently, going by the imprints on your palms." 

John leaned forward on the table, "Why would you think you were boring me?"

Sherlock smirked. "Because most people expect conversation. I don't talk for days on end, and then I won't shut up for weeks." He scratched the back of his head in thought. "Then again you aren't most people are you?" 

John tilted his head, "I suppose not."

"Good." Sherlock said finality in his voice. He examined John. He was a normal boy. The bullies making him their target made no sense outside of territorial rage. He could be normal. And Sherlock guessed he envied him for that. 

John nodded, "You aren't like most people either."

Sherlock bit back a laugh as he flipped through the book. "That's quite an understatement, Watson" he remarked 

John smiled, "How long have you lived here?"

Sherlock groaned. "I've never been able to escape this provincial town. Not for long. I've been stuck here with my insufferable family all my life" his eyes darkened. Why would he tell John that? 

John frowned, "You don't like it here?"

"I wouldn't imagine one takes kindly to being regarded as the town freak his whole life" he said bitterly 

John's frown deepened, "Why do they call you the town freak?"

Sherlock looked up with an arched brow. "You really are new here." With a deep sigh and a quick hope John wouldn't run screaming from the library he said "my name is Sherlock Holmes. It's my business to know what others do not. I can tell from your bag that your father has left or died and your sister hasn't managed to well. Why else would she give you the bag that reminded her of him? I can tell you put it in the front hall next to a pair of leather boots, varnish on the side pocket. You over stuff your backpack because you can't bear to lose anything, you're clingy, something had been taken from you before." He stopped himself before he could verse too far where he was unwanted. "I could go on" he mumbled and hid behind his book 

John looked at him in awe, "That's brilliant. How could you tell all those things?" 

Sherlock leaned forward as well putting them uncomfortably close. "Deduction. Where you see I observe" 

"It's amazing," he replied, not moving.

Sherlock sat back in surprise. "That's not what they say" he said in outline. 

John frowned, "What do they say?"

Sherlock looked down and fiddled with the pages. "Fuck off" he said quietly. 

"Oh," John looked down at his hands in surprise.

"No, no they say that, not that I'm telling you to-forget it" Sherlock sighed and pinched his nose 

John looked up at Sherlock, "No, I get it... That must be hard on you."

"I'm fine" he said distantly 

John shook his head, "No you're not... You can always talk to me about it." He suggested weakly.

"You!?" He asked pompously. "You're a stranger." 

John looked down at his hands, "I... I just want to help, that's all."

"Ever so helpful" he quipped. "You need to help others because you feel helpless about something or someone." 

John shrugged, "I like to help people."

'Kind soul' Sherlock thought. "Yeah" he said lamely. 

John looked at his hands and didn't say anything. Sherlock looked around aimlessly, searching for something to talk about. He liked John. John was calm, like cold water to a burn. He wanted to keep him. Not that people are owned, of course, but he wanted him as a friend 

John looked at the book Sherlock was reading, "Is that what you want to be? When you grow up?" He wanted to keep the conversation going.

Sherlock scoffed. "Not a photographer. No, cameras are not my...field of interest. Crimes, however, are. They're so simple, so easy." He rolled his eyes. "Pictures offer perspective, however biased." 

John looked at Sherlock, "Oh. That's interesting. Have you ever solved one?"

"Solved one? I've solved many. Not that anyone will listen" Sherlock muttered, disdain in his voice. "I'm just an insolent child." He drummed his long fingers on the table before him. "You know the case on the news? The kidnapping? It was the uncle. The one from last week? The robbery? Staged. It was a cover up to gain insurance money."

John looked impressed, "Really? That's amazing."

"You're very monotonous. Don't you want to ask me how I know? I could be lying." Sherlock ran a hand through his curly black hair enticingly. 

John chuckled and looked up at Sherlock, "Ok, How?"

"The uncle has been deflect paparazzi for days. He just bought a new car, his hand is always in his pocket, playing with a new key, saw an interview. He needed the new one because the old one has the DNA in it. He's somewhat smart. Also look at the way he holds the mothers hand. He is guilty" Sherlock cut off. He never got far in explaining this usually. People cut him off or walked away. 

John raised his eyebrows, "That's it? That's how you knew? Where's the kid then? What about the robbery?"

"Yes that's how I knew. That's all I needed to know. I can guess from the car type they're probably in woods somewhere if not dead. The robbery was obvious from the women's eyes. She hadn't been crying. Her windows were shattered her possessions were taken her life endangered and she didn't cry. But the slip of paper in her pocket, as seen in the sun a few days later, confirmed it." Sherlock crossed his arms. He watched John soak it in. His nose did an adorable crinkle when he was thinking too hard. 

John thought it over, "That seems reasonable."

Sherlock shrugged. "Do you want to get out of here?" He asked finally an stood up without waiting for a response 

John stood up as well, "Where are we going to go?"

"Coffee. I need coffee" he smiled. It was the most mundane thing he could think of. 

John chuckled, "Alright."


	3. The Walk

The pair walked out of the school to the crappy but very cheap coffee place down the street. Sherlock pointed things out about people they passed, trying to impress John. "Affair… hates that dog… four driving tickets… angry at her mother".

John looked amazed, "How do you do that?"

"My brain is always working, always moving. It never stops." He said as he kept walking. "I can't turn it off, I always see." It haunted him knowing what he did about these strangers. Cluttered his mind.

John looked down at his feet, "Doesn't that get... tiring. Knowing all those things about all those people... it must be… hard on you." It came out as more of a statement than a question.

"Hard" he barked bitterly. "Yes hard would be a word. It's the curse of who I am, I guess." He scrunched up his face. "Not to pity myself"

John frowned, "How do you deal with it?" He couldn't imagine how anyone could live like that. Knowing the things other people didn't.

"I don't" he said simply and frowned.

John's frown dropped, "Why not?"

"Tedium" he said as they came up on the coffee shop. He walked inside, with John in tow and ordered a medium black coffee with two sugars. The Barista made doe eyes at him while John ordered some complex sugary concoction.

"Get a table, I'll get the coffee." John walked over to the pickup area and got his and Sherlock's coffee. He went over to where Sherlock was sitting and sat down handing him his cup.

"Thanks" Sherlock said and smiled out the window. People passed back and forth. It was calming. Beautiful. "I like people watching" he whispered almost to himself.

John sipped his coffee, "Why?"

"It's easy. Some people walk, some play music. I'm sure you're familiar with the idea of a hobby?" He said and held his coffee in his hands. "Speaking of hobbies what do you do?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged, "I play rugby."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow over his coffee cup. "You don't like it. Well you do... just not like everyone wants you too. What's else?"

John took another sip of his coffee, "I want to be a doctor."

"A doctor? Interesting" Sherlock smiled. He never pegged John for the type, but the constant need to save when you have been helpless made sense.

John nodded and leaned back in his chair.

"Anything else I should know?" He asked and tapped the side of the cup

John shook his head, "I can't think of anything else."

Hmm," Sherlock sighed. "I play violin". He didn't really know why he chose that of all facts to share but it was something. " Helps me think" he sighed. "What's your favorite subject?"

He thought it over, "Biology."

"Makes sense. You're even headed, perfect, stable. Boring" Sherlock said and stood up, throwing a ten on the table and walking away, leaving a stunned John in silence.

John quickly got up and followed Sherlock, "What's yours?"

"And persistent" he added and cast a wry glance at John. "Very good. Alright, I like...uh...maths? It's all nonsense, but maths makes the most sense" Sherlock shrugged.

"Oh." He didn't like maths. It made no sense to him. Sherlock shot random questions at John as they walked, each one pulling a smile to his lips. They walked for hours. "Where are we going?" John finally asked.

"Anywhere you want" Sherlock shrugged. He likes walking. It was cheaper than therapy

John shrugged, he didn't mind walking, "I don't care."

"So this sister of yours. She actually tricked you into climbing a tree?" Sherlock asked continuing the story.

John nodded, "She said if I climbed up the tree she wouldn't tell mum I ate the whole pie."

"I still can't believe you ate a whole pie. I can hardly eat a meal!" Sherlock laughed lightly.

John chuckled, "Neither can I." He liked the sound of Sherlock's laugh. It sounded like drizzling rain. "I don't like pies anymore, not after that incident." He admitted.

Sherlock caught John's eyes. They were bright blue and flickering. They were nice. "Anyway, uh, favorite dog breed?" Sherlock asked

John thought for a moment, "Um... German Sheppard. What's yours?"

"I hate dogs. If I had to pick I'd go with...Doberman pinscher." He said and put his hands behind his head, stretching.

"Why do you hate dogs?"

Sherlock shrugged. "They bite. They slobber. They do nothing. Nothing at all. I suppose some might find them entertaining, even loving. I find them...crude?" He frowned. He lowered a hand to tap a very pale scar under his ear. "Mummy kept Doberman pinschers for years till one bit me."

"Oh..." He wasn't sure what to say, "I can see why."

"Anyway, what do you think of Egypt?" He asked suddenly as they rounded a corner. They made circuitous routes around the city as they talked, restless. At least, Sherlock was restless. John just seemed too polite to admit his feet hurt.

"Egypt? I think it's hot in Egypt. Hot and dry. I don't like hot weather."

Sherlock began to laugh loudly and almost uncontrollably for an almost offensive amount of time before calming himself. "John, you are so...ordinary. I meant politically but no, I can't stand hot weather either. I quite prefer rain"

John grinned, "Oh. I don't know... I don't have an opinion on the issue."

"Good. Favorite season?" He asked

"Fall. Yours?"

"Winter." He sighed. Fall was already heavily upon them. "Do you have to be home by any time? It's starting to get late" Sherlock said, producing a pocket watch, which was so outdated it was almost comical.

John shrugged, "Not necessarily." He enjoyed Sherlock's company, and he was sure his parents wouldn't mind if he went home a little later than usual. "That's a nice watch."

"Oh, this? Yeah, I guess. It's easier than a wrist watch." He said.

"I like it. Where'd you get it?"

"Grandfather" he said. "Do you like gardens?" He asked

"They are relaxing."

Sherlock grabbed John's hands and tugged him down a side street, and through an alley. He stopped and pointed up. Above them the wall of the building had been covered with a hanging garden. "5th street gilley garden" Sherlock proclaimed.

John looked up at the garden, "It's beautiful."

"I know. It's my favorite garden. No one knows who did it" he smiles at it for a moment, caught up in the whimsy of it.

"It's amazing."

"Isn't it though?" Sherlock asked and glanced down at their hands, then dropped John's clearing his throat. "Well uh, I think we should get moving. It'll be dark soon" he said quietly.

John looked down at his hands and sighed, "Yeah. I guess."

"Where do you live?" Sherlock asked, looking for tube signs. He didn't want to walk all the way back and quite liked the tube. People watching.

"286 Northumberland Street." He recited.

"Here" Sherlock said and hopped down the steps to catch the tram.

John followed him, "Where do you live?"

Sherlock didn't respond. He swiped his card and got them through the turnstile. "Come along, before we miss the train."

John followed silently as they boarded quickly. Sherlock sat in the corner, John beside him. Others boarded and an insistent chatter started up, a dull droning white noise that got caught up in Sherlock's head. He looked on in interest as a mother calmed a weeping child, a man argued on his cell phone, and two teenage girls squawked at each other about someone named The Doctor. John sat quietly next to Sherlock until he realized he didn't know when to get off, "What stop are we getting off at?"

"Um...that one" Sherlock pointed blindly at the stop closest to John's street.

"Ok." John didn't say anything else as they waited for their stop.

"Do you like the dark?" Sherlock asked as they wound through London

"I don't mind it."

"Puts me on edge" Sherlock remarked. "What about music?" he asked and brushed his hair back, though the unruly mass fell back just where it was. "What do you listen to?" He looked at his nails in a bored fashion and watched the couple flirt three seats down from them.

"A little bit of everything." He paused, "Except country. I don't listen to country."

Boring" Sherlock sighed. "That couple, over there, how long before she finds out that he's been eyeing me for ten minutes and has one...no two boys on the side?"

John looked to where Sherlock was pointing, "I don't know."

"I'd say, between...hmm, two minutes to a week if she looks up." He put his hands behind his head and his eyes traced down all the ads on the roof of the tram. "Have any questions of your own?"

"Where do you live?" John asked again.

"Besides that one" Sherlock amended. He frowned at the collar of his coat but couldn't be bothered to fix whatever it was that bothered him

John frowned in concentration, "Not at the moment."

Sherlock finally looked at John. "Really?" He sounded a bit surprised. "Interesting"

"Were you expecting questions?"

"Yes." He paused. "Human reaction. You're presented with an anomaly. When proven it's harmless, though in my case that's still up for debate, you begin to question its existence. How's and why's. Yet you seem...uninterested. Not bored. At peace. Like you've figured it out. You look like me"

John nodded, "I have."

"And what is it you've figured out, Mr. Watson?" He asked, attention directed fully at him.

John thought for a moment, "You're different. Definitely not like most people. You're clever. You're interests are unusual; you don't care what other people think of you. You don't have many friends, but you don't mind, used to being alone." He listed off the things that first came to his mind.

Sherlock frowned, impressed but a bit startled by John's accuracy. "Unexpected. Correct, for the most part. But," Sherlock smirked. "You're missing what's important"

"And what is that?"

"When, and _if_ you ever find out, you'll be ready to know" he said cryptically and resumed sending critical glances to the old woman knitting a rather alarmingly green scarf.

John scoffed, "Right. Of course."

"What? Are you offended?" Sherlock asked, looking at John curiously. He had nice lips. They were smooth.

He shrugged, "Somewhat."

"No need to be. It's no fun to point it out. Plus" he paused and put his tongue to his teeth in thought. "Causes a bit of a sticky situation. Emotions. Disgusting they are."

John rolled his eyes, "Of course."

"What? Anger is disturbing, sorrow is unsettling, love is perfect putrid. Don't try to deny it, Watson" Holmes bantered. "Look there. They are married no? Both are more intent on their phones than their partner." He looked around. "That woman in that back suffers from chronic depression and is probably thinking of suicide going by the worry stone in her hand." He pointed out another example. "That man had been shaking with rage and will probably go home and fall back into his alcoholic routine of drinking it away. Emotions are disgusting"

John shrugged, "Emotions aren't always bad... not when you experience them anyway."

Sherlock examined his knuckles. "I try not to." He said too softly to not be heard as regret.

John frowned, "Why not?"

The tram lurched to a stop, saving Sherlock from an answer. He in turn lurched to his feet and pushed through the door like a cat, quick and agile. He ran along the platform and stopped, waiting for John a safe distance away from people. 'Pain' he thought. 'Emotions are just pain'

John wasn't as quick as Sherlock at getting off the train. He followed the crowd off the train and walked to where Sherlock was standing to one side. "Where to now?"

"Your home. I suggest you lead the way" he said and clasped both hands behind his back, carrying on as if nothing had happened and followed as John led the way out of the station to his house.

It was a short and silent walk. Sherlock didn't try to start or continue they're conversation. They reached John's brownstone in mere minuets. Sherlock stopped. Goodbyes were awkward. "If you find yourself in a tree, make sure it's not mine. Meet me in the library" he said and nodded at the rather confused blonde before turning the way they came and began slowly walking back to the station to take the tram as close as was possible to get home.

John was confused, "Wait" he called after him, "What do you mean 'meet you at the library'?"

"Tomorrow" he called back and didn't turn. He severely hoped deep inside himself that it would work out. He really really hoped John didn't hate him that John would come back.


	4. The Town

John nodded and turned to go inside. He opened the door and walked in greeting his family as he made his way to his room. He did his homework, his mind wandering to his day with Sherlock.

Sherlock on the other hand thought little of John as he went through the rest of his day. When he did think of his blonde companion he only saw his smile. Strange, like it was haunting him. He'd frown and brush the thought aside. 

John woke up the next morning with new found energy, he had no idea where it came from. He got up and got dressed going through his usual morning routine. He went downstairs to eat breakfast and was out the door. He walked his usual route to school, taking him about 45 minutes to get there.

When Sherlock awoke he found himself in a state of irritability. Probably Mycroft's doing. They had gotten in a bit of a row last night over mummy. He stretched and scowled. Mornings were trivial. He would rather sleep all day then face them. He detested sleeping but hated mornings even more. The boy dressed and escaped to school with no contact from his older brother. He considered how he could skip class and hide in library till he and John were supposed to meet. Oddly Sherlock decided against it. He had history today. That promised to be entertaining if repetitive. 

John's classes went by in a blur. He didn't enjoy his first couple classes, maths and history, but it was alright because he had lunch after that. He sat at his usual table alone, then it was time for English, which he didn't particularly enjoy either. It took forever but the bell finally rang and it was time for his favorite class, biology. The class went by really fast and before he knew it, school was over. Remembering what Sherlock had said last night, he made his way to the library.

After history Sherlock stayed gone and slipped into the library virtually undetected. He went to farthest table in the back and stayed there, reading the photography book he had disbanded last afternoon. John made his way to the back of the library, where he had a feeling Sherlock would be. He spotted him and went over to where he was sitting at a table reading a book. He sat down across from him.

Sherlock sat in silence, not reading, just looking at the page. "You came" he said finally. "That's..." He looked up "unexpected". 

John shrugged, "Why wouldn't I come?"

Sherlock barked a cold condescending chuckle, completely humorless and said "you clearly don't know who I am". 

Not knowing what to say, John shrugged again. He knew Sherlock was right, he didn't know much about him.

"I am the child even the teachers talk about. I am the freak, the science obsessed psycho. Here I am the drug addict. I am the monster." As he spoke Sherlock seemed to grow more dangerous. He was trying to push John. He wanted him to go. To be safe from the social suicide. "I am the bully, the scrawny rich kid, I am the smart one". 

John didn't move. He didn't know what to say, but he didn't want to leave wither. He just sat there, looking at Sherlock, a confused expression on his face. What was he supposed to do? Walk away from the only potential friend he could have at this school? He didn't think so.

"John sometimes I think you're almost hopeless in some ways. Yet you remain spectacular in others. Quite the enigma" he frowned. 

John shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

"Anyway, how are you?" Sherlock asked and spun a pencil in his hand. 

"I'm fine... How are you?"

"Let's do something" he said, ignoring the question. "Ideas? I'm bored, anything will do" he sighed. 

John leaned forward, putting his hands on the table, "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Oh come on!" He said waving offhandedly. "You can't leave me to think up everything. I chose yesterday". 

John thought for a moment, he had only been here for a couple weeks and was still getting used to the neighborhood. "Well... you could show me around."

"What do you mean? Around town?" He arched an eyebrow and suppressed a laugh. 

John nodded then shrugged, leaning back into the chair, "You don't have to."

Sherlock stood excitedly. "On one condition. You don't question where we go." 

John nodded and stood as well.

"Then let's go!" He chimed and strutted from the library. John smiled and followed Sherlock out of the library.

He smiled and grabbed John's hand, pulling him through the street to an alley way. He ducked behind a building and past a group of men. Smoking . Those lucky bastards, and out the other side. "Come on!" He said, excitement in him. He was happy. "Here's the corner store. Illegal gambling and drug rings but best prices on everything if you're under 18. Or attractive. They'd be sweet on you." Sherlock frowned. "Probably best if you stayed away." He dragged him up the street and around the corner. "This is Gracie's house. She was murdered four years ago and local officials still don't know why. I obviously do, having seen the crime scene. It's obvious she had been abused and tried to take revenge. The self defense went overboard. Oops, little harmless Gracie fell down the basement steps. 

John followed along taking in every word. He wondered how Sherlock would know about the drugs and gambling, making a mental note to stay away from the corner store. He frowned at the house they had stopped at, "Why don't you tell the police?"

"They didn't listen. Fifth graders can't solve crimes" he said, the last sentence in a high pitched mocking tone. "Ridiculous." He turned and darted down the street taking a right then a left. "Remember" he said as they moved rapidly down the street "you always turn left here, or you'd be in the street rats' territory. Weak gang, strong influence with adults." Sherlock crunched up his mouth in thought. He stopped suddenly causing John to crash into him. A large, faded church, red brick and Victorian design stood before them. "Here it is. Scarlet road church. And more importantly the home of the scarlet catacombs. They're really glorified maintenance tunnels but they cover a large part of town. We should investigate sometime." 

John nodded, committing it to memory, before running into Sherlock as he suddenly stopped. He moved beside him and looked at the church. He nodded again, "We should definitely investigate sometime."

Just as suddenly as they had stopped, they moved bouncing through town, Sherlock creating this air of a little kid in the candy store. He showed John everything. "That's where I first got beat up, there's the cemetery, I go there to think. It's quiet." He's point somewhere else as soon as e revealed anything about himself. He never gave John long enough to ask questions. "That's where the car accident was seven years ago. Best ice cream shop here, if you ever needed books the basement at that coffee shop is a free library as long as you say the right word. It changes, be careful." 

John followed along, taking in everything Sherlock told him and everywhere they went. He didn't say anything as Sherlock never gave him time to ask questions or comment on the different locations.

After a few hours they stopped at the edge of some woods. "Do you want to see the grove?" He asked quietly, his blue green eyes very serious. 

John nodded taking note of Sherlock's serious expression, "Of course."

He gripped John's hand tighter, a bit anxious. The grove was the best place in town. He felt bringing people there would taint it. Everyone except John. John would make it better 

John squeezed Sherlock's hand encouragingly, "Lead the way."

Sherlock pulled John into the forest slowly, watching for roots in the ground. He didn't say anything at all, and kept his breathing even despite his mounting anxiety. John followed quietly, keeping his eyes on the ground.

The pair came upon a clearing. Sun filtered down into it, making the grass shine. Around the edges trees wound together so no one could see in or out. Sherlock walked in timidly and turned. "I come here to think. At night they lock the cemetery so..." he looked off awkwardly and clasped his hands behind his back.


	5. The Grove

John stood at the edge of the clearing for a moment, taking it all in. "It's beautiful." He smiled finally walking in.

"Good" Sherlock said, almost a whisper. He flopped down. "So what do you think of our mundane little town?" he asked with more confidence.

John sat down next to him, "It's nice. I like it."

"It's a nice place" he agreed and looked up at the clouds.

John looked around at the clearing, "How did you find this place?"

"When you run away you tend to find great hiding places" he said vaguely.

"Who are you running from?"

"Who aren't I running from?" He laughed.

"Why are you running from... people?" he asked awkwardly.

"You're bad at asking personal questions. If you wanted to know, you'd ask with confidence. Don't ask if you don't want to know" He said, curling on his side.

"I don't want to know if you don't want to tell me."

"I'm running from people because people are idiots" he snapped sitting up and glaring at John. "They're rude and dull and never ever think. They don't look beneath the surface. They don't see what's right in front of them!" 

"Are you trying to say something?"

He blinked and realized his error. "No...No. But John, you're not most people, understand that. You don't always see, but you...you...damn it" he barked harshly and manically brought his legs to his chest, shielding himself. 

John wanted to comfort Sherlock but he didn't know if he would be ok with it. "It's alright." he said moving closer to Sherlock and hesitantly putting an arm around his shoulders.

He let John touch him but didn't lean into it. He didn't know how to save himself from the hole he dug. Sherlock took a breath and castigated his weakness. "Any other questions?" He asked and stood. He wanted to leave. This was a mistake. This was all a mistake.

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Older brother. He's a pain" Sherlock sighed. 

"Do you go to church?"

"I've been inside of one, but I'm not too keen on faith in a mysterious nonexistent force, thank you" he said matter of factly. 

John nodded, "What's your favorite food?"

"Food? That's what you care about? Food!?" He sputtered and crossed the distance between them. "Come on, you have the right questions in there, I know you do, ask them!" Sherlock barked, face mere inches from his own 

John looked stubbornly at the ground, "What do you want me to ask?"

"How'd you get that scar on your chin? Why won't you tell me where you live? Why are you so close to me?" He shot off irascibly. If possible he got closer to John, wanting to instigate something. A punch to the face, a shove backwards. 

John looked up at Sherlock their faces inches apart, "Why are you so close to me?"

Sherlock snapped to as if he finally became aware if himself. He cleared his throat and stepped back. "Le-" his voice failed him. He tried again. "Leave. I shouldn't have brought you here, you'll just spoil it." He looked at the shocked John. "I said GO!" He shouted his voice ringing around the clearing. 

John silently stood and slowly left the clearing, looking at the ground as he did so.

Sherlock watched with pain and anger as John left. He was getting to close to John. Alone was what he had. Alone protected him. 

John could feel tears forming as he walked away. He had thought he had found a friend. Turns out he was wrong. All his life he had been alone. He was alone again.

If he stopped him, he'd be a freak. A bi polar freak. It would sort itself out he decided. It would. 'That's what Queen Anne thought' his mind retorted 'her people killed her' he hung his head and his clearing didn't feel so protective. It felt like a child's toy. 

John was walking through the woods and away from the clearing, tears running freely down his face. He stopped and sat down against a tree, wiping the tears away and trying to compose himself before he left the woods.

"I'm sorry" he said quietly knowing John wouldn't hear it. Sherlock swung around and launched his fist into the nearest tree trunk. It was always him. It was always his fault. 

John had gotten a hold of himself now, accepting he would always be alone. He got up and started to leave the woods. Why did he have to be so alone? It was always his fault. He drove people away.

He couldn't fight anymore. Sherlock plunged after John. "Wait!" He called frantically, his heart in his throat. "John, please!" He ran blindly in the direction he had watched John leave. He wasn't going to let this happen. Not this time. Not him. 

John was just about to step out of the woods when he heard Sherlock yelling his name. He was going to just leave but he didn't want to be alone anymore, he decided he would hear what Sherlock had to say. He sighed and turned around to face him, an annoyed expression on his face.

Sherlock caught up breathlessly. He heaved a sigh and tried to talk. "So-" he coughed a bit. After a few seconds he was able to suppress it. "Asthma," he sighed. "John please, I didn't mean...I'm sorry, please. Please be my friend. Don't go. I...don't do people very well" 

John considered it for a moment. He liked Sherlock, he was different. He wanted to be his friend if Sherlock was willing, which it seemed like he seemed he was. He needed a friend. He sighed, "I'll be your friend... but you have to promise you won't push me away again." That seemed like a reasonable term. He needed friends he could rely on.

Sherlock looked at him incredulously. "I'll...try" he tried to smile for John's benefit. The thought terrified him. He'd mess up, he knew he would. But he'd try. 

That's all John needed to hear. He'd try. That was all he could ever ask of him. He managed a weary smile, "Good."

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. "You're strange John. You're not like the others" he said and stood there awkwardly. 

John smirked and crossed his arms leaning against a tree, "So you keep saying."

He didn't bother to elaborate. Sherlock just stood there against a tree watching John and trying to catch his breath. 

John watched silently as Sherlock slowly got his breath back.

"Well you're quiet. Let's finish that tour" Sherlock smiled. He was ready to forget what just happened.


	6. John's Friend

John's eyebrows furrowed, "Just like that?" He couldn't understand how Sherlock could just forget what had happened.

"I..." Sherlock folded his hands together. "I don't dwell on the past John. It's not...healthy. Especially for me. Yes, it was moments ago but in all honesty if I don't move on...well I never will." He shrugged nonchalantly but inside he was anxious.

John considered what Sherlock was saying. It made sense. He might as well move on as well. John nodded, "Where to next?"

And with that the boys sped off again, skipping madly across town with no particular order. Eventually it began to grow darker and darker and occasionally Sherlock would glance at the sky. "John, I think you should go home." he said after dusk had long since settled. "It's getting dark, your parents will worry." 

He frowned, realized Sherlock was right, and nodded. It was getting late and his parents were probably wondering where he was. He looked around and didn't recognize the street they were on, "Where are we?"

"Corner of Dart Street." Sherlock replied automatically. He knew this town like the back of his hand. "Your house is...oh maybe ten minutes walk easy from here, if you cut across Peter Avenue." 

John nodded, taking in the information. It took several moments before he cautiously asked "Could you walk me?" He didn't know the town as well as Sherlock did and was still getting to know all the streets, "I'll probably get lost." He said thinking Sherlock would reject the idea.

Sherlock was taken aback by John's offer. "Yes, I can" Sherlock said with a tone that was almost soft. 

"Lead the way," He raised his arms as if to gesture the way they were going then he realized he didn't know and they plopped back down to his sides.

Sherlock smirked at John's small blunder and began to walk towards John's home. He certainly felt faintly sad that John was going. He had really only insulted and hurt him but he was fond of the strange short boy. He took a few turns, John shadowing him closely, and tried to find things to say. 

John followed closely behind Sherlock as he led the way to John's house. He was sad he was going home. He wanted to spend more time with Sherlock and was glad he had gotten over the insult. He sighed. Tomorrow was Saturday and he had no idea what he was going to do, "What are you doing tomorrow?" He wanted to spend the day with Sherlock but he wasn't sure the taller boy would want to spend the day with him.

"Finishing our tour" he said simply, voice sure. "We are far from done" he added. If he sounded sure, John would come along. He knew it 

"Great" John said enthusiastically.

Sherlock's response was a smug smile. The dusk settled quickly and the boys were left walking in fading light. It was peaceful, and their pace was even. Quicker than either would have liked they were turning onto John's street. "Prattson Street," he said unnecessarily. "It's nice... So when would you be up?" Sherlock asked. "Not to be forward" he added as an afterthought. 

John shrugged, "I can be up at anytime." They were halfway down his street and he had slowed their pace considerably.

"Hmm, ten?" Sherlock asked, keeping his pace before he noticed John lagging behind. "What is it?" He asked. 

He caught up with Sherlock, "Ten's good. Where do you want to meet?" he said avoiding the question.

Sherlock frowned. "Your house. Since we ended there." He narrowed his eyes and let a moment of silence pass before he said "you seem rather reluctant to get home?" 

John sighed, "I've got tons of homework to do that I'm not looking forward to." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. His teachers _had_ given him a lot of homework but he wanted to elongate the time he spent with Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, finding himself strangely disappointed by the answer. "I find homework tedious. And therefore don't do it. Much simpler that way." he shrugged.

John tilted his head, "It is, but if I don't do it I'll fail my classes." They were standing in front of his house now.

"Well..." Sherlock said distantly. "Today certainly didn't go as I had planned..."

"What do you mean?"

"Considering I very nearly lo-I mean...it was...I upset you. I didn't mean for that to happen. I don't want to see you upset." He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Goodbye then" he said stiffly and turned to leave. 

John smiled inwardly, "See you tomorrow." He said turning to face his house.

"And John?" Sherlock said absently. "Good night" he cast a wink at him and practically floated down the street. 

John looked back just in time to see the wink and almost tripped going into his house. He shut the door behind him and walked upstairs to his room ignoring the questions his parents threw at him. He would have to answer them sometime but he ignored them for the moment. He walked into his room and dropped his bag in its usual place. He then went downstairs to eat dinner and answer the questions he had avoided earlier.

"Where have you been?" His mother shrieked as she put plates down. His stepfather peered over his laptop at his son. "You've had us worried sick! School ends at three, that's when you're expected home!" She carried on.

Harry snickered as she walked in the room. "You're gonna get it now" she teased.

John sighed. What was he going to tell his parents? "I was at the library with a friend." The lie slipped out before he could think of anything else to say. He had never lied to his parents before and it felt uncomfortable coming out of his mouth. It was partially true. He had been with Sherlock, just not at the library.

Everyone stopped. Harry broke the silence first. "You have a friend?" She barked harshly.

John's mother smiled tensely. "That's great!" She chimed. "But tell us next time! Who's this friend?" She questioned. Even his stepdad seemed interested as he put away his laptop. 

John sighed in relief and decided to tell them as little as possible. "His name is Sherlock. I met him yesterday."

His mother straightened up. "That's a strange name" she remarked.

Harry shot John a harsh glare. "You don't mean Sherlock… as in Sherlock Holmes? As in the town freak? That guy?" 

John narrowed his eyes at Harry, he didn't like it when people called Sherlock a freak. "Yes I do, and he's not a freak."

"Oh he so is! Mom! Sherlock ran into my friend in the hall and like...he knew things. Things about her, like that she'd just lost her textbook and that she had broken up with her boyfriend and that he had been cheating on her, it was so weird! He's a stalker." Harry protested.

Mrs. Watsons face grew tighter as Harry went on. "Is this true?" She gasped. "I don't want you hanging around with someone like that!" 

"He is not a stalker!" John couldn't stand his sister accusing his new best friend of things he didn't even do. "He's... different," he struggled to explain Sherlock to his mother. "He sees stuff other people don't."

"John," his stepfather began. "It doesn't seem like you know this boy well. Just be careful" he said gruffly in a voice that was final. 

"I'll be careful." He didn't say half the things came to his mind.

Dinner was tense and silent as the Watson family mulled over John's new friend. Meanwhile the friend in question was still out walking, letting the dark sink into his skin. 

When John had finished his dinner he got up and announced he was going to his room to do his homework. He left the table, putting his plate in the sink on his way to his room.

"Seriously" Harry's voice carried from the kitchen. "Watch out." 

John rolled his eyes as he entered his room and shut the door loudly behind him. He sighed as he sat down at his desk, starting his homework.

Across town Sherlock stood on his front step and glared at his house. He hated it. He hated all of it. With a sigh he bowed his head and entered. It was silent, as per usual. No one home. Never anyone home. 

John finished half of his homework and decided it was getting late. He managed to get ready for bed and fall asleep without having his family bother him.

Sherlock had made it to his room and glared blearily at the clock from his current experiment. He didn't want to sleep. He never did.


	7. Parents

John woke up at nine the next morning. He got up and got ready to go out. He went downstairs where his mum was already up and making breakfast.

"John, your stepfather and I were talking. We don't think you should see this Sherlock boy unless he meets us." she said as she put toast on his plate, followed with eggs. "He sounds...dangerous and we want to make sure you're being safe." 

"Fine." He sighed, "He's probably on his way here now. He was going to give me a tour of the town." He started eating the food his mum had put on his plate.

His mother frowned. "That's nice of him. What has he shown you did far?" 

John sighed and listed off a couple places he had been, "The church, the library, the coffee shop."

"Oh. That's-" the doorbell rang and she jumped. "I think that's him!" 

John sprang out of his chair, his breakfast forgotten, "I'll get it" he said rushing to get the door.

The door swung open, unexpectedly catching Sherlock in the chin. He stumbled back. "Good morning?" He laughed and rubbed the sore spot. His eyes grazed over John's almost just woken form. He was bright and alert. A morning person? 

"Morning," John pulled Sherlock inside and closed the door behind him. "My parents want to meet you." He said leading the way to the kitchen where his mother was waiting, "Be nice."

Sherlock frowned. "John, I don't do well with-" John's mother cut him off.

"Hello, Sherlock! We've heard so much about you" Mrs. Watson greeted.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. His thoughts shot off. 'Gray hair, wrinkles. Stress. Dark eyes, no sleep, or depression, tight wound, puts pressure on John. Tries to please husband, controlling if not abusive husband, Harry is a wild child then' he smiled. "Hi Mrs. Watson. I'm so glad to meet you," he said with forced happiness. 

John's mother smiled, "Pleasure's all ours," she said as John's stepfather walked in.

"Sherlock! Come sit, let's talk" John's stepfather rumbled to both the boys chagrin. Sherlock shot John a glare that screamed 'I did not sign up for this!' 

John looked at him apologetically as he desperately searched for a way out of the situation.

"Now Sherlock...how long have you lived here?" John's stepdad implored, disregarding all tact.

"All my life," Sherlock responded and had to bite back the sarcastic 'sir' that formed on his tongue.

"Oh. Do you like it here?"

Sherlock shrugged, "If I know nowhere else, how am I to know?" He said.

John mother smiled. "Brilliant!" She remarked.

Mr. Watson went on. "And school, you do well?"

Sherlock almost laughed. Almost. "I guess you could say that" he said, just shy of humble. If top of his class for four years didn't say that he didn't know what would. 

John rolled his eyes as his parents questioned Sherlock, still thinking of a way to get them out of this mess. He furrowed his brow in concentration, frustrated with himself when he couldn't think of a reason to leave.

"How'd you and John meet?" His mother asked as if this was John's girlfriend.

Sherlock stiffened. "We...ran into each other, quite literally and...got to talking" he had lived 

John sighed and decided it was time to go. "Are you guys done?" He asked his parents.

John stepfather guffawed. "Slow down, son. We want to know this young man."

Sherlock smiled falsely and said "I hate to say it but John is right, we do have a busy day" he stood and nodded at each parent with respect. "Mr. Watson, Mrs. Watson." He turned and dragged John out by his elbow before either could protest. Once they were safely outside Sherlock in an incredulous voice asked "WHAT WAS THAT!?" 

John shrugged, "They wouldn't let me hang out with you if they hadn't met you first." He explained.

"I. Don't. Do. Parents." he said stiffly and kept walking with his hands gripped around John's elbows 

John had no choice but to follow. "You did fine."

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. "Never again" he swore. "I need a cup, were going to the coffee shop." 

John nodded, "Fine. Let's go."

They walked until all the tension in Sherlock left him, step by step. When they reached the shop it was completely gone. "Sorry" he sighed, hoping John would try to make him talk about it. "What do you want?" He asked 

John told Sherlock his coffee order then asked, "Why don't you do parents?"

Sherlock placed the order. "I...disappoint." He said blandly. That wasn't the whole truth. It was some truth. 

John raised an eyebrow, "I doubt that."

"You're confidence is overwhelming" he remarked sarcastically as they were handed their coffees. 

John smirked, "There's something else." he stated as they sat down at the table they were sitting at the other day.

"Nope, people think I'm a freak nothing new. Well not for me. For you however. You've never been called a freak. At least not till your school found out about your wild sister, disgrace, absolutely. You're parents are very conscious. Moved to avoid public humiliation." 

"How did you know about my sister?"

"How could I-" he caught hurt spreading through John's eyes. "I...could uh tell" he said softly. 

John nodded and looked out the window, changing the subject, "Where are we going today?"

"The tunnels" he replied simply. 

"Let's go then." He stood, eager to get going.

"Slow down Watson, I want to finish my coffee." His smile almost hinted at flirtatious if John didn't already know Sherlocks emotional capacity was stunted. 

"Fine," John plopped back into his chair, taking a sip of his own coffee.

"So eager. I dare say you were looking forward to this?" He smirked into his cup. 

John shrugged, a smile playing on his lips, "Better than homework."

A small frown of disappointment creased Sherlock's eyebrow before he brushed it away. "Of course" he mused and watched Saturday morning commuters walk to work. 

John watched Sherlock impatiently as he finished his coffee occasionally taking sips of his own. "Can we go now?" he asked when he saw Sherlock was almost finished

Sherlock sighed and sarcastically responded "no" before standing gracefully and throwing away his cup. "Let's go. The tunnels are a bit of a hike" he sighed and grabbed John's wrist, more for the feeling of John's skin than for guidance. Weird.

John smiled and threw away his cup. Eager to get going, he followed Sherlock out of the shop not minding the physical contact.

They walked and walked. Sherlock chose the most beautiful path, old Victorian houses lined with trees. Shade cast down on them and the streets were empty. He wanted to say something, to break the almost awkward silence but knew he'd just ruin it. Finally he decided on fact. "The tunnels are...old. Catacombs. They're really catacombs built under the church to house the dead. We have a cemetery so it's not in use." John looked around in awe at their beautiful surroundings, nodding in acknowledgement of the fact. Sherlock paused for a beat before pointing to a green house. "I'd live there" he said off handedly. 

John followed Sherlock's pointing finger, "Why?"

"Witches peak. I could sit in that room, above everything and watch." He sighed to himself and stiffened his shoulders. "It won't happen" he said solidly. 

John frowned in confusion, "What won't happen?"

"Up this way" Sherlock brushed off John's question, something he seemed infuriatingly good at. 

John sighed, "Fine." He followed Sherlock the way he had indicated.

They turned and began climbing a steep incline that seemed to lead to some woods behind two houses. He smiled to himself. "This location is never to be revealed to any other person. Is that understood?" He says calmly, though there is an unspoken threat in his voice.

John nodded, "completely".

He brought him between the trunks of old gnarled trees, letting his hand linger on them like they were friends. The hill suddenly and sharply dropped down. Sherlock leaped down it, deftly. About halfway down he looked up at John. "Be careful" He said, without any arrogance. It was almost kind. He continued walking down to the ravine and waited for the blundering John to catch up. "You'd cause an avalanche" Sherlock muttered, back to his on again off again rudity.

John wasn't as nimble in going down the hill. He stumbled blindly down the hill, almost falling twice. Once he made it to where Sherlock was waiting he had a chance to look around.

Sherlock smiled. He looked around and shoved a rotted tree stump out of the way revealing a large opening. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled in the small stone hole. He cast a look back at John to make sure he was following before ducking his head down. "Just ahead" he said softly. He felt his claustrophobia begin to set in and crawled quickly. John crawling into the tiny space behind Sherlock, they crawled out into a dark cavern. Sherlock pulled a torch from his pocket and cast it on the wall. Large alcoves could push into the walls, framing large portraits of presumably dead. Sherlock heard John gasp as he looked around. All Sherlock could do was pray there wouldn't be any bats. He didn't want to scream.


	8. The Final Stop

John looked around the confined corridor, "How did you find this place?"

"When the town wants you dead you find places to hide" he said and pressed on. "You asked for a tour this is a tour. This is where I sit and think when I can't think anywhere else. The dead...listen" he paused and looked up. No bats. No shrinking walls. All that was left was the dark. He hated the dark, but didn't. His hand found John's and lead him down the clay corridor. "Any questions, I suggest you ask them" 

He followed Sherlock down the dark hall, "Why would the town want you dead?"

"Because I dared." He turned a corner that bottomed into an even bigger room. This one held stone coffins and stone pews. The chill sunk under John's skin but Sherlock was immune to it. Sherlock turned suddenly and faced John. "Do you hate the dead? Fear them? Miss them?" 

John looked around the room, considering the answer before he replied, "No reason to hate them, or fear them, but it's hard not to miss them." Then he turned back to Sherlock, a confused look on his face, "What do you mean you 'dared'?"

"You wouldn't understand" he breezed and ran a finger lazily through the thick layer of dust. "Dust is eloquent," he whispered almost to himself. 

John shook his head, "I want to understand," he said ignoring the last statement.

Sherlock shrugged and said nothing else, picking up a candlestick. The silence between them grew tense.

John sighed, "Fine. Don't tell me."

"You…" Sherlock rubbed his hand over his face and pointedly ignored John's eyes. "You'll do best not to guilt me."

John glared at Sherlock, "If that's what you want."

"What do you think? Of the tunnels?" He asked ignoring John's glare and flitting to a stone pew, kneeling down to trace the engraving.

John followed Sherlock with his eyes, dropping the glare, "They're interesting."

"Elaborate," he encouraged, "Tell me more."

"They're quiet, peaceful, ancient… complex… intricate… captivating. I could spend hours down here, days even, exploring them." He walked the perimeter of the room as he talked.

Sherlock nodded, "I did once" he said before he could stop himself "Ran out here and stayed for two days."

John stopped to trace an engraving on the wall, "Two days straight? Don't you need to eat and sleep?"

"That's a given" he said and jumped at a loud watery echo. "Let's move on. More town to see." He said and almost ran from the chamber, John following quickly behind. The mad man darted up the stairs and burst into the sunlit forest. "One more place," He decided. "Then you can be done with me."

John frowned as he followed Sherlock into the forest, "Why would I want to be done with you?"

"You're annoyed. Normally one wouldn't hang around someone who upsets them." Sherlock said simply, climbing up the steep hill.

"You don't upset me." He lied as he followed Sherlock up the hill.

"Your clenched fists disagree. You're doing the tongue thing." He was able to gracefully reach the top and was again hindered in waiting for John to catch up.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to hang out with you." He said as he finally reached the top of the hill.

Sherlock inclined his head in the closest he'd ever come to admitting a point. His long legs aided him in getting down the slope to the street with the Victorian houses on the other side where he stopped. "Turn right or left?" he asked John.

John followed Sherlock to the street, "It's your choice."

"Left it is," he said and turned in that direction, John following closely as they walked down the street. As the air chilled around them fog began to form. Sherlock shook his shoulders, "Nothing like fog," he sighed. He was grateful the weather had worked out and obfuscated the street signs.

John nodded in acknowledgement of the fact, "Where are we going now?"

"Home," Sherlock said, his voice catching awkwardly. "My home."

"Oh," John didn't think Sherlock would take him to his house after avoiding the subject so much and was surprised by the answer. "Okay."

"When we get there," he said though when sounded more like an 'if', "Don't talk. Don't say anything at all."

"Okay." He said then couldn't fight back the question, "Why not?"

There was no reply. Before the mad man could change his mind they found themselves walking on a street like every other street, but surrounded by houses that were much more than houses. They were mansions. In Sherlock's mind they were museums, they were empty, they were bombastic. He stopped in front of his own; the long driveway was, as usual, empty. His shoulders stiffened, "I live here," he gestured to the off white monstrosity before them. "My mother is in Johannesburg on business. She has been for almost six years. My older brother is at University and is graduating to a position in the government. I am… alone." His voice almost cracked. "I despise this building, but it is the final stop of our tour. You have now seen even the extraordinary parts of this town. You have seen the battlefield." Sherlock shuddered, "Come inside, you'll want tea."

John looked up at the beautiful house, his promise temporarily forgotten. "Where's your father?" he asked Sherlock once they were inside.

Sherlock laughed bitterly, but didn't grace the question with an answer. "Sit, I'll make you a cup." He said more evenly than his erratic behavior.

John sat down on the sofa taking in the beautiful elegance of Sherlock's living room. Sherlock's house was artfully if sparingly decorated. It was simple. Two arm chairs, turned at an angle, facing a Victorian style sofa, on which he was sitting on now. The arm chairs were black to contrast the white floor and the sofa which was red. An ebony coffee table stood between them like a barrier. At the other end of the room, intimidating bookshelves dominated the wall, and a grand piano innocuously filled the second half of the room. Large windows let in the natural sunlight, bouncing off the white walls. It was all pristine, which to Sherlock's mind meant dead.

Sherlock went to the corner in front of the piano and put on music by reflex, always too quiet. He foolishly grabbed a record that was his favorite, one he would never play for anybody, and put it on the turntable. Yes, Sherlock Holmes still listened to records. It was all jazz, but of the good variety, not too smooth, not too jumpy. He could almost forget that John was there. Save for the fact that John filled every room he was in.

"I'll put on the kettle. We only have peppermint I'm afraid," he said, though he wasn't really sorry about the lack of flavors. He only liked peppermint. And the occasional chai. John gawked about the living room as if he'd never seen anything like it. Sherlock knitted his eyebrows together.

"Peppermint's fine." John replied, turning his attention back to Sherlock and watching as he made the tea.

His hands moved swiftly and beautifully, like he was playing some kind of instrument. He turned on the kettle, brought down two cups, putting two sugars in his coffee, and frowned. "John" he said. "Do you take sugar in...your...tea," he caught John unabashedly looking at him. The light in his eyes was...almost endearing. Catching. Embarrassing, delightful, flattering. Sherlock blinked wildly.

John shook his head, smiling when his eyes caught Sherlock's.

"What?" Sherlock asked defensively. He scowled. "I assume you take sugar, you do so in your coffee." 

"I don't." He simply replied, averting his gaze as he realized he was staring.

As Sherlock waited impatiently he frowned to himself. Why was John staring at him? Did John think he was mad? The mad little rich boy, spoiled and lonely? Sherlock shuddered. The freak? Was it perhaps pity, rather than...he hardly wanted to admit to the trace of admiration he thought he saw. It couldn't have been. He is no one to admire. Pity. It's always pity. 

John's eyes roamed around the room once more stopping at the piano. "Do you play?" He asked looking back to Sherlock.

"Yes." Sherlock said but didn't expand. Finally there was a whistle and Sherlock unceremoniously poured the water. He took the two cups to the living room, thoughts of pity holding him back. He stood, staring out the window onto the street, now coated with fog.

"Thanks," John said as he took the cup of tea from Sherlock.

"What brought you here? To this town?" 'To me?' He added in his thoughts 

"We needed a fresh start." He frowned 'more like Harry needed a fresh start' he thought.

"Sounds ominous" Sherlock smirked. "What's so good about new anyway?" He took a sip of his tea and turned back to John. "Besides me, do you like it here?" 

John shrugged, "I guess I do. It's quiet, peaceful. I could get used to it."

Sherlock shrugged. He didn't have anything to say for once. 

John took a sip of his tea, "You never answered my question."

"What question?" Sherlock asked. 

He sipped his tea before he asked, "What's your favorite food?"

The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched before he burst into a short bit of laughter. "Beautiful, John. You're so, mundane. I don't eat often, outside of staying alive. I don't really care what I eat." He scratched his head. "What do you like to eat?" 

John smiled, enjoying the short burst of laughter, "Neither do I." 

"What would you like to do?" He asked leaning on the wall by the window. 

John shrugged, "Whatever you want to do."

"Examine crime scene photos? Dissect things?" Sherlock arched an eyebrow and smirked at John's grimace. "I didn't think so. We could always play Cluedo" 

"Alright," he took another sip of his tea as Sherlock laughed to himself. This would be fun. "Let's play," he said, downing the rest of his tea.


	9. Experiments

An hour later John learned it was NOT fun to play Cluedo with Sherlock. "IT _HAD_ TO BE MS. SCARLETT!" He insisted as John rubbed at his eyebrow, a tick Sherlock already recognized. 

John looked skeptically at Sherlock, "I mean... if you think so…" He was stumped, he couldn't think of anyone else it could be.

"Ms. Scarlett _had_ to have committed suicide! It's the only logical answer." he sat back. "I make that an accusation, let's check the cards," he demanded and pulled out the answers. Of course he was wrong. The victim can't do it. He pouted. "I hate Cluedo." he declared childishly. 

John burst out laughing. For someone so smart Sherlock could be so blind sometimes, "The victim couldn't have done it, Sherlock. It's in the rules."

"It's the only answer. They all have alibis." He declared but laughed a little with John. John's laugh was open and easy, much like the rest of his personality. 

John managed to reign in his laughter, "Not according to the rules."

"Rules are tedious," he said, gesturing so strongly he upset his character, Professor Plum. "Looks like he's dead too," Sherlock joked before giggling.

John grinned, "Looks like it."

"What now?" he asked leaning back.

John shrugged, "We could always play again."Sherlock made a noise of disagreement. John chuckled, "We could watch telly."

"Is that all you do? Watch Telly? Being alone here...I tend to not stay in the house," he shrugged and noticed his record had ended. He frowned and got up to turn it over. 

He shrugged, "I do other stuff." His day consisted of school, sports, and homework not leaving a lot of extra time to do anything else. It was ordinary, like so many other people in his school.

"You're interesting John Watson. Act like it," the boy teased. Another song began playing and Sherlock smirked. 

John scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Sure I am." He said sarcastically.

"No you are. You really are." Sherlock said earnestly looking at the boy on his carpet. 

"If you say so," John muttered, not convinced.

"You think I'm lying, and you hate you liars, but I'm not lying. You have a part of you that you try to hide, I can see it." Sherlock stopped himself before he scared John off. "I'll put the cups in the sink," he muttered, picking them up and heading to the kitchen. 

John's eyes widened a little. Sherlock could see right through him. He realized there was no use in keeping up the walls he had built; he could be himself around Sherlock. He relaxed as he let the walls crumble. _Only when I'm with Sherlock_ he thought _otherwise the walls go up_. He watched quietly as Sherlock put the cups in the sink, not knowing what to say.

Sherlock leaned on the archway between the kitchen and living room after putting the cups away, watching John. He listened to the jazz song on the record player. It was a good day. 

Before he could stop himself, John felt himself asking, "What else can you see?"

Sherlock's mouth tucked in at the corner, "I can see you hold yourself to impossible standards. I can see you are often disappointed in what you see in yourself. You hold your tension in the muscles at the base of your neck. You are prideful, you care what I think, your hands tell me that, trying to keep calm." He approached John and sat opposite. "Your eyes are sad but they're always like that, long term grief. Obviously from a family member." 

John quietly stared at Sherlock, slightly surprised at the amount and accuracy of the information, "What do you think?"

"I think-" he paused. No one had really asked what he thought, always what he could deduce. What he knew. "I think that you are under pressure you shouldn't be, with grief you shouldn't have. I think you're loyal. I think...I think we're friends," he sputtered out the last part hesitantly.

John smiled, "I think so too."

Sherlock sighed in relief and laid back. 

John rolled over on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, "What should we do now?"

"I don't know," he laughed. "I normally have a plan. I always have something to do. But I don't, today." 

"What do you normally do?"

"Experiment. Read." He shrugged. "Things you do by yourself." 

"What kind of experiments?"

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "I'm testing the effect household acids have on linoleum." 

John raised an eyebrow, "That seems... practical."

"Quite, come see," he burst up with childlike enthusiasm and lead John upstairs, to a sort of study. It was all white. More large windows bathed the room in sunlight. "See, this is bleach, this is Draino, which isn't an acid but that's beside the point, and this..." Sherlock rattled on pointing to Petri dishes that contained slices of linoleum and different chemicals. 

"Have you found anything interesting?"

"No," he sighed. "Everything's just as expected. Boring." He rolled his sea green eyes and cast a secret glance at John's profile. He was cute. Very cute. 

John chuckled, looking at one of the Petri dishes, "Why are you doing the experiment then?"

"I hoped something new might happen." He seemed distracted by fixing a Petri dish in a row, keeping his eyes low. 

"But you knew nothing would happen," John looked at the Petri dishes lined up in a neat row.

"I was _bored,_" he insisted and shrugged. 

"Alright," he said dropping the subject and reaching for one of the Petri dishes.

"Mind your arm, before you get it in the acid," he warned and pulled John away from the table, almost behind him, almost protective. 

John let Sherlock pull him away from the table, standing slightly behind him. "What other experiments have you done?"

"Uh, things. Random ideas?" 

"Like what?" John asked genuinely interested, "What did you do before this one?"

"The one before this was testing the tensile strength of piano strings that had been left to soak in water for a few days," he smiled. "They could hold my weight for about an hour." 

John couldn't help but smile back, "What are you gonna do after this one?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I have one idea..."he said softly, looking curiously at John. 

John smiled at Sherlock, "What is that?"

Sherlock appraised John silently, wanting to answer but not answering. He scrunched up his mouth in thought and looked down. Should he? Should he? _Shouldheshouldheshouldhe?_ Making a decision, he un clasped a shaking hand and brought it up slowly, keeping eye contact with John, before laying it softly on John's cheek, his skin surprisingly soft and warm. His breath hitched and his heart hammered. Sherlock ran his pale thumb back and forth once over John's cheekbone. He waited for a reaction. John didn't look away as he slightly leaned into the touch, somewhat surprised by the warmth of Sherlock's pale hand. Warming of the cheeks, dilated pupils. Sherlock's fingers found the inside of John's wrist, a slightly pounding heart beat there. Interesting. But not okay. DEFINETLY not okay. Sherlock backed up in worry and knocked into the table, upsetting the Petri dishes. Acid caught his knuckles and the hem of his shirt. "Fuck!" He cried and shook out his hand stupidly, the only reaction to his skin melting he could think of.

John was stunned for a moment before he asked, "Where's the bathroom?" He stepped forward, his instincts kicking in, he took Sherlock's undamaged hand and firmly lead him out of the room and into the hall, waiting for an answer.

Sherlock pointed at a door down the hall, "Baking soda. Water won't help. Go to the kitchen," he said with clenched teeth and fought his instinct to run down the hall.

John nodded, "Go to the bathroom," he said decisively before he sprinted down the stairs and into the kitchen. He rummaged through the cupboards until he found the baking soda and sprinted back up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Sherlock's hand throbbed and the welts that formed had begun to pop. Dammit. _Dammit dammit dammit_. He didn't want to run it under water. Water itself has a pH of six or seven meaning its neutral. It wouldn't help the acid. Plus city water was reading at pHs of fives and fours as it got more acidic with pollution. Sherlock waited patiently with his hand screaming over the sink, head reeling. God he was an idiot. 

John burst into the bathroom, baking soda in hand, breathing heavily from the sprint up the stairs. He went over to where Sherlock was standing over the sink and gently took his chemical soaked hand, pouring some of the baking soda onto the now popping welts. "Take your shirt off," he said when the welts had started to subside, looking at the spot where Sherlock had spilled the acid onto his expensive shirt.


End file.
